


The Wooing of the Prude

by DJOfRadioGallifrey



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst and Romance, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, BAMF Jon Snow, Canon Divergence - Tourney at Harrenhal, Cockblocking, Drama & Romance, F/M, Feisty, First Dance, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Idiots in Love, Jealous Jon Snow, Jousting, Love/Hate, Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, POV Sansa Stark, Pining, Teen Angst, Virginity, Winterfell, medieval dance, tourney
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:47:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25362637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJOfRadioGallifrey/pseuds/DJOfRadioGallifrey
Summary: A disenchanted Sansa prepares for the upcoming Northern tourney/festival. Wary of fairy-tale romances, and dangerous men. She is anxious, somewhat prudish, and an obvious virgin. Lady Sansa tries to navigate this pageantry with her ladies-in-waiting, while dealing with a mysterious stormy-eyed cousin from the deep north, who has become the talk of the castle. Let the angst commence. (Warning; The rest of the story will be uploaded to the other fic site, for safety)
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Remember, the rest of this story will be posted to the other fic site, for safety. That's for those who ask for it to continue, because it is continuing- it's on another site. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13635961/1/The-Wooing-of-the-Prude

**So annoyed my first attempt at loading this failed, it was up 24 hours and I realised it hadn't put the spaces or scene changes in. Devastated. So this story is reminiscent of taming of the shrew, but when I was writing it, I thought of Oklahoma. Except they aren't in the west, it's so not completely AU. But... The story is set in a universe where the seven kingdoms are still whole, but the northerners like to have their own festival instead of one dictated by the south. The festival is held by the Starks and they decide who goes. Lyanna Stark bore Jon, she had a secret affair with Rhaegar and moved to the mountains away from prying eyes, and away from Robert Baratheon's constant bids to court her. There was no rebellion, Rickard and Brandon were not killed by Aerys, but died from a plague. Sansa is 16, Jon is 19/20. Rhaegar is still on the throne.**

Don't worry there is no abuse in this story, Sansa is still a virgin during the course of this story. But logically she may lose some of her innocence towards the end.

* * *

Condensation emerged from a coarse woolen hood. A lone man padded through a dewy forest on the border of the land of eternal winter, his shoulder was laden with heavy pelts as he made his way towards his dwelling. A Raven squawked at him from the handle of an axe that had been left impaled upon a tree stump. He dropped his wares and reached for the excited bird. A slither of parchment that was wrapped about the creature's leg was gently prized away, and unfurled.

'The festival is in a month, where the hell are you?! Hothoof it here, now! Ned'

* * *

Sansa weaved her pink cotton through the muslin steadily, in the hopes of making a realistic depiction of a rose. She was certainly getting better, it resembled a plant with its green bottom and... She sighed apathetically.

"Something wrong, milady?" Jeyne was always the first, the diligent one of her elite team of embroiderers.

"I need some air... the tedium is getting to me." She set her hoop down on the table, emptying her lungs as she pushed herself up. "I lost myself in thought of the embroidering itself, instead of fantasizing."

"Oh dear me, then there is no point." Jeyne set hers down, followed by the others in all seriousness, once they had all stood in their circle, they laughed. "I suppose embroidery was made once to make us forget our troubles."

Sansa was taut, she pouted. "Once." She agreed with mirth. "And an excuse for a group of women to be in each other's company without having to think of something to say." The girls hummed in concurrence, they did that a lot when she shared an opinion. She assumed it was because she was the alpha of the group. "To keep us out of the way of the men folk...I swear, men could have invented this, they thought they knew what they were doing. High focus projects, our small brains couldn't possibly nag them at the same time." Further chortling ensued.

"They love it really." Gilly, was a fairly new addition to the ladies, she had accompanied a rag tag bunch of deep northerners to acquaint herself with the more civilized community. "They say it makes the heart grow fonder."

A series of 'aaws' rung out, before Sansa chimed. "That's a nice thing for them to say...as much as I would adore the romanticism of that." Her gaze was downcast and cautious, almost bashful. She really wished for such affection from a man. "I think he might have been trying to sweeten you, Gilly, mother tells me when a man is out of our favour, they will do anything to get back in." She winced at the wildling's expression "...Even manipulate the truth." She didn't mean this out of spite.

"That's southern men, not men of the north." Gilly was on the defense.

The gathering became somber, Jeyne stepped in. "I'd say sewing has sharpened our minds, you Sansa...wouldn't have spoken so ill of a man you hadn't met before. And you're more likely to discuss important matters with a needle in your hand."

"-The men around here aren't southern men...we're all northern!" She was still hung up on what Gilly had said. "Besides most men are the same, needing to please women for their own gain. Though there are worse who just take, without pleasing."

"Did someone break your heart?" The question hung in the air like a bad smell. Even the meek girl in the group looked up.

"No!.." She breathed to calm herself. "No..." This was embarrassing. "I have never been slighted by a man...and before you can compliment my fortune, just remember I am younger than you all, l have not ever been courted by a man." Her face burned. "Not yet." The atmosphere calmed with the giggles that rung out in their cramped space.

"And on that note...I suppose now we must address the upcoming festival." This was every girl's favourite occasion, it was the chance for everyone in the community to meet and acknowledge one another, introduce their children, and a chance for folk to find spouses. They clapped and shimmied at the thought, the skirts fluttering as they spun.

Sansa's cheeks still hadn't cooled. "If we all find a chaperone that isn't our mothers...then we'll know we've got a good year coming." She locked eyes with Roslin. "And I hear you're making a white dress...something to tell?"

"I just like the colour." She said sweetly, and gracefully returned to her stitching. _I suppose that's the last we'll hear of her_. But Sansa adored her delicateness, her dainty fingers and soulful eyes. _If she were a man, she would certainly marry her._

"I know I will be courted this year, after all the smiles I've given out." Jeyne was simpering, with the twinkle in her eye. "So many conversations with one glance." Jeyne was the less conservative one of the ladies, she was loud for a lord's daughter, slightly boisterous, like Arya, but feminine and a daydreamer.

Sansa remembered she was once like her. _'Well you are still like her, you still have her innocence'- thank heavens, and daydreams of romance- just daydreams, alas, but after an unfortunate year in her childhood, she learnt to be wary and quell her openness to be swept off her feet by a fairy-tale romance_. Her brother Robb had saved her from near ruin from a southern lord. She was but ten, and the man was thirty, he had wooed her family first with gifts and chivalry, he then began intercepting her solo prayers in the godswood, he would invite her to sit on his knee while he read her tales from a book. She recalled he use to comment on the smell of her hair, and her beautiful little hands. He would kiss her cheek in between chapters. After every book reading Sansa would skip off, unaware she was being groomed. A word she didn't use to associate with bad dealings.

She figured she must have been enamoured of him, or at least pleased with his attention early on, to keep coming back with no thought.

"Shall we read Jonquil again my dear?..I know it's your favourite." His smile would be bittersweet, and he was still descent looking for a mature gent, so it was foolish to think him cradle snatching. _Foolish child_. She never even considered his white teeth and approving glances to be predatory. "You know...you remind me of jonquil."

Sansa remembered this had pleased her and she had curtseyed at this. He was as gleeful as ever when she clambered on his knee and began the book at the most sweet passages. His hand was on her leg, twitching with the reverberation of his voice whispering close to her small ear- she found that odd, and his kissing became more frequent on her cheek, and wetter. She wasn't too sure about this; the pauses in the story, and the kisses themselves drowned out the words she adored.

"I want to hear the story." She tried not to whine, but her request was from a child's mouth.

"You know this story so well." His voice somehow sounded breathless. "Do you ever wonder what jonquil and florian did when they were together away from prying eyes?" She cocked her head at him to get better view of his face.

"I'm not silly, I know what they did... they courted." She almost said it like a secret, and basked in the triumph that reached his eyes, but Sansa grew shy when his smile faded, and he thumbed her chin, so her eyes never returned to the pages.

"They would kiss on the mouth." His thumb caressed her lip, and a warm hand moved up her leg, up the corset and settled under her unformed breast, in fact a finger did breech what was acceptable. Her back became taut with the odd sensation. "A firm passionate kiss." He continued very a matter-of-factly. "Their tongues would caress." Sansa blinked slowly, he must have mistaken it for a flutter. "Shall I show my little Jonquil?"

Her memory falters, but she recalled his breath smelt like summer wine, and her eyes closing so the fumes wouldn't burn her gaze. _She imagined a kiss with him would have been sweet...but odd, his hands were-_

"-GET YOUR DAMN HANDS OFF!"

Sansa had craned her neck so fast it nearly snapped off. She doesn't know if she leapt off or was thrown off his lap by the lord. Her lord brother was tearing through the snow like a beast, the look of simmering death purpling his face.

"How dare you think you can help yourself!" He unsheathed his sword, the sound she remembered well, she heard it on a daily basis, but never had someone charged at her with one drawn. _Did she do something wrong? Had she brought shame to her household being beguiled by this man?_ Robb had him up by the ear, incredible since he was fourteen at the time.

There was a squawk of pain that actually caused the wolves to howl. The sword that pressed at her assailant's neck drew a little blood, that shook her; her sweet brother had drawn blood from another.

"Yer wished to slobber...to lecher...to ruin a young girl!"

"Robb!" That was her mother, running across the green, a stone skipped off her shoes and rippled the water. It's odd what she remembered. "What has happened?"

Seeing her daughter on the ground, she immediately attended to her, kneeling to lift and hold her tight, she must have looked in need of saving she gathered. But she felt gormless and guilt-ridden. Thank the seven. Sansa knew now she had been in trouble, at the cusp of premature relations with a man three times her age. She had been small and of not sound mind to know his kiss would have burned her until she was bare and brittle from his ministrations.

Her brother still had this lord in his grip, who still hadn't spoke. "This horrible man tried to canoodle with Sansa, he was all over her. He wanted to plunder her mouth, I heard him say!"

The gasp that was emitted from her mother could have ruptured her eardrum. "My lord...this is a grave accusation, and I believe a truthful one!-"

"Lady Catelyn-." He made an attempt to weasel out, but he took a sharp intake of breath at another prod of steel against his neck. "I was... merely... teaching her the wonders... of courtship."

"So you want a quick merciful death, then?" Robb had not only lost his patience with being seething mad, he had slipped into brazen. "Very well."

"Robb!" The lady was in between both children, scrambling to both prevent a bad decision from one and comforting the other. "We need your father here, to jump to the most severe course of action before approval from him...could lead to-"

"He was not here!"

"You think he wouldn't believe you?"

"I've passed a judgement, I must see through with the-"

"-You can't kill a man for this!"

Sansa's lip began to quiver at the barrage of none stop yelling, between two people she loved most. She had yet to shed tears but her face was red enough to assume she had.

"A grave offence?!" Her brother no longer sounded like a lord. "Are you jesting? A man could lose his hand stealing a lamb!"

The man spoke up, managing to stand straight even with Robb fisting his robes. "If it makes it any better...aaaaa." Further prodding had him bowing his knees. "I would...have courted her...aaa... until she was of a good age...aaa...and married-"

"Fuck no!"

"Robb!" Her mother's warning rung out then faded.

Sansa hadn't realised she had lowered her lids, she heard Jeyne talking to her through the dimness. "You're daydreaming, again, I hope it's something nice."

Sansa scoffed, opening her eyes fully. "Did I look content?"

"Couldn't tell." She shrugged. "A lot of the time you look like you're feeling sorry for yourself. I don't see why...you've got land, your health...beauty."

A compliment from her was nice, but it seemed like a slur. _Just take it like a lady_. She smiled almost sadly. "Thank you, I suppose." Her gaze caught Gilly, who looked sort of gormless- _though perhaps it was pensive?_ "Have any thoughts on chaperones?- Sam...Theon." She looked cagily between her companions. "Robb?" They both made guttural noises. Sansa grimaced. "Please...you're ladies...and he's my brother." She shimmied towards the door. "Quiet approval please."

Gilly nearly knocked her into the doorframe coming through with her, she still wasn't use to etiquette. "Where I come from when you like someone, you tell them, or kiss them."

Jeyne sized up that answer. "Hmm...It's best to find out if they like you first before telling him that...or else, you look like an idiot."

Sansa rubbed the bruise that was probably forming on her hip. "Yes, and no." They were ready for her answer earnestly waiting. "Just because a man expresses an interest in you, doesn't mean he's after love and marriage."

"We can't afford to be picky...and marriage doesn't have to be on the table." Gilly burst, and it took a lot of restraint not to laugh out loud, or scold her. Though Jeyne certainly elbowed her.

"Valid point, you can, flirt, dance, but save yourself for your husband." She knew they thought her prudish, _but weren't women supposed to be prudish?_

"I suppose we should make sure the men have asked our fathers first before we hold hands and such." Gilly chortled. "You don't have to be a stick in the mud."

"I have to." Sansa said plainly, and the air became somber. _..for her anyway_. Her brother and mother had advised her from ten, of real men, and women's wiles. They taught her niceties from men couldn't be trusted, but politeness could. Her father was very awkward around the topic, since finding out. He became cool towards all friendly strangers, neighbours, and watchful of Sansa's reading material. He equipped her with what he called 'real books'; recipes, history, household management, and weapon maintenance, despite not possessing a weapon. But somehow Arya ended up with her own sword. _Typical favouritism._

She descended the staircase, fisting her skirts, her companions dithered back, probably to talk about her.

Different voices bounced between the halls, coming from the main hall. She reached the flagstone of the reception hall in time to see her young sister jump into the arms of a hooded man. Her initial thought was of her father, when he would make pilgrimages to the outer lands and return with skins and leathers wrapped around his form. Smelling of damp, pine, and animal, she would be one step behind Arya ready to embrace him. Sansa elated, approached. "Father."

Arya was slipped down from his arms then, and the hood was peeled back by a callous hand. _Oh_. She saw raven curls clinging to a damp forehead, and piercing eyes that were clouded with confusion, before they were suddenly replaced with mirth, a lopsided grin was present to. _She did not know him, but that needed to be rectified_. Her mouth fell open, then shut for a second.

"Sorry I thought you were somebody...sorry." She picked up her skirts and started to whisk herself away. _She couldn't greet a man she hadn't been formally introduced to_. Her sister tutted. _Why?_

A deep husk voice called out to her. _Well spoke, if truth be told_. "Is that how you greet your favourite cousin?"

She froze. _She had no favourite, but he certainly held no rivals, Lysa didn't allow Robin to travel, and her Aunt Lyanna's illegitimate boy whom was rarely seen or spoke. Jon._ Sansa spun, he had remained where he was, thumbs tucked into his scabbard belt, studying her. She remained silent, gormless to the fact that she was staring too hard at him to be familiar or sentimental. "My cousin."

Arya was first to break the awkwardness. "Oh for heaven sake, you know Jon!"

Sansa blinked, finally relaxing her brow. "I know..." She scowled at her sister. _How dare you make it look like I had forgotten_. "I know...our cousin...hence...favourite...cousin." She repeated followed by a quiet bark of a laugh, before she inched forward as if she were about to angle for a hug. "Sorry Jon." She shook her head to be rid of the fog. "Our acquaintance was short, and my familiarity with you rusty." Instead of hugging her, he took her hand, which she assumed she had out in front of her, because the action was seamless.

He shook it, a careful look on his chiseled face. "Better?" Jon drawled.

"Hm?"

"I could go away and come back in to see if the memory improves." His lip curled again. "Perhaps even a hug the second time around."

She found that impertinent, _was it compulsory to be so cosy with distant family whom she hardly saw?_ "My my your social skills have improved, I remember six years ago you knew only Yesses and Nos."

He was still holding her hand, it was getting increasingly warm. "You remember." His smile was wry, something meant to put her at ease, she supposed, but left her still concerned. _Does he have fond memories of me?_

"I'm surprised Arya remembered you." She frowned into her own observation. "She must have only been six at the time, and despite your coyness ...you have an instant rapport...enough for her to embrace you so comfortably." Why is that? A finger caressed her knuckles, she tried to ignore it. "Perhaps you have a secret language?" Sansa wanted to say tryst, but she wanted her breakfast to stay down.

His eyes flickered over to her younger sister, and seared when they returned to her. "I've been back a couple of times, you just never noticed."

Arya rolled her eyes. "Typical."

 _Now hold on, she hasn't lived underground_. "You must have snuck in and out, you never sought to speak to me. Why am I to blame for absences?" Sansa's hand fell free finally. "But I'm sorry for the missed opportunities...nice to see you." She dipped in curtsy and turned to spare herself more ridicule for not knowing what to say to her cousin. _A hug might have killed her._

"Is that it?" Her heart was in her throat.

"Sorry?"

His tongue flexed as if he was sucking on a sweet. "Well- I have finally got my act together, and you have admitted to missed opportunities... and you're off?"

She could sense he wasn't really offended, she could literally feel the smugness on her back, she braced herself and turned, back straight. "Forgive me." Was all she could suffice. _She was not ready, she was not well._

"As you wish." He bobbed his head in mock surrender. "Later."

Relief unfurled across what she hoped was a thankful face, she prayed she didn't look too hoity. "Now if you don't mind, my lord, I must check on my horse." _Don't rush, don't rush_. She meandered to the stables, hoping she wouldn't be followed so she could squirm in peace.

* * *

The castle was abuzz with news of a handsome ranger that had been living in the mountains, and had now taken up residence at Winterfell. Returned to the birthplace of his mother.

_He could sheer 60 sheep in ten minutes apparently, he could split logs with his bare hands, he could scale an ice mountain with one small pick axe, he could fell a tree with just his upper body strength...one time he smiled at a woman and her corset bust open-_

"-Will you shut up? Please." Sansa interrupted the discussion in her embroidery group, and the gaggle halted, looks were exchanged to her annoyance. "Jon didn't live in the mountains, he lived in a cottage with his mother until she died, he is not a Shepherd, no man can split logs or fell a tree with their bare hands...and the corset thing..." She huffed. "Are there dragons girls?" They all shook their heads in unison, defeated. "Then no, he can't bust a bustier by looking at it." She pulled a stitch through in triumph. "Has anybody finished their dresses yet?" She said off hand, her reasoning that the girls would latch on to a discussion of the festival rather than talk about...him.

"I have." Jeyne did a shuffle forward on her stool, clearly peaked. "I'm wearing a faded mustard yellow piece with knots around the collar."

"Lovely."

"Oh that's lovely." Another silence filled with rustling fabric came upon them.

Gilly bit her lip, skittishly glancing from one girl to the next. "I'm...borrowing mine." They craned their heads. "My chaperone's mother is sending one for me."

"Ooo Gilly!" Sansa patted the embroidery on her lap. "I approve."

Jeyne quirked a brow. "You kept that quiet."

"Not for long, this was how I planned to drop the news." Her grin reached the wildling's eyes. "It's Sam." Her pitch was off the scale.

"Knew it."

"Knew it." Sansa echoed. "And being acknowledged by Sam's mother." She had a suggestive lilt to her voice. "She's going to loan you her wedding dress next."

The excitement forced the eldest girl to stand. "It's an omen, I shall be next... I will get my desired chaperone!" Her fingers flexed at her sides. "Maybe lady Catelyn will lend me one of her dresses."

"What about the mustard yellow dress?" Sansa didn't want her to get her hopes up, _lady stark was unlikely to hand out a dress to a chaperone_. "You've worked so hard."

"If your mother hands me a dress, I will take it gladly, mi'lady." It was very matter-of-fact, but clearly a delusion.

"What of poor Theon..." She draped in the air, hoping either someone would take the bait, even the girl that had said nothing was alert. Lady Stark heard a chuckle and she seized it. "Yes?"

"Let's just say, you might receive a dress from Pyke."

Her face fell. "What?" The girls laughed at her, even the quiet one had masked her face. _She didn't like that one bit_. She arose to her feet, back taut once again. "It's not set in stone, I've heard nothing of this."

Jeyne wiped her eyes to rid herself of the merriment. "I was only jesting, Theon has his delusions...it'll either be me, Roslin, or the cowmaid."

Sansa had to defend her brash response. "There's nothing wrong with Theon, he's just...our ward, practically our prisoner, I couldn't." _Maybe talking about something other than the festival was better._ "Arya maybe could."

The quiet girl spoke. "Lady Arya has been spending time with the ranger...I think she might go with him." Sansa was relieved the girl could speak, _now for the matter of her younger sister getting a grown man as a chaperone._

"That doesn't seem right, she's twelve...and he's...not twelve."

"But look at him! So brawny...even a twelve year old girl could appreciate that." Jeyne had said too much, and with much conviction. _A Dangerous woman._

"Little girls don't think about things like that, and I'd be worried if our cousin looked at her appreciatively as you claim she would him." Sansa folded her arms, letting her thoughts simmer, after just a moment she released her arms. "Jeyne... would you consider asking Jon?" She interlocked her own fingers as if washing her hands with imaginary water. "Would you ask Jon?"

A stony silence followed, the quietest it had been in a while. "What?..Ask Jon if he wants to jump Arya?"

"No, ask Jon to the festival with you." _Wasn't it clear she didn't want her little sister put in that position?_ "You're very agreeable, and if not you...Roslin?" She looked over at the other girl pleadingly. She remained tight lipped.

Jeyne on the other hand- "Ha! I'd only do it if I knew for certain he would say yes, I wouldn't want to look like an idiot, would I?" Her friend stood, very apprehensive. "I would gladly take Jon, if he was...keen...and I was not at risk of a beating from Arya."

Gilly leaned in. "Good point, if Arya has a plan...then-" There was a knock at the door, and for some reason all the girls starting shushing.

Sansa cleared her throat. "Who is it?" "Robb." Oh. Loads of stares later... "Is Roslin Frey in there?" Everyone turned to the quiet girl, and she arose tentatively before replying. Everyone else hung on her every word.

"Err...Yes, my lord."

"I wish to take a turn with you in the courtyard." They were still as the castle, before – "Of course, my lord." There was a scuffle of skirts as people made room for the frey girl to reach the door. Sansa closed her eyes, knowing Jeyne was probably digging a hole for herself behind her, or burning.

When the door clicked shut, she found herself embarrassed for her friend; she didn't know where to look. "So about Jon..?."

* * *

**Please review, they give me sustenance, and I don't know how many read this. If you want to see more, go to the other fic site, it is safer, and it took too long to edit here.**


	2. Chapter 2; Now is later, right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's with the formatting on this site, ey? I have to go through rich edit and individually mark up every word, and redo all gaps. I have so many italics. Crimeny! Like I said before, the rest of this story is on fanfiction dot net, as of today it's up to chapter 31. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13635961/1/The-Wooing-of-the-Prude

Another day, another dawn. The eldest Stark daughter broke her fast with a lemon cake, staring downtrodden at the fabric that had arrived from wintertown. Blue and grey satin. She hadn't started her dress yet, and she only had two weeks to go before the whole community gathered. Roslin had been inspired the afternoon she returned from her walk with Robb, and began stitching blue winter roses into her ivory dress, much to Jeyne's dismay. The news became old by the following morning, and the poor lady folk of the castle knew it was time to look for second best for chaperones. So of course there was a load of fluttering eyelashes in the vicinity of Theon and his new dueling companion, Jon.

Sansa watched from the window as the local rangers and farmers met with her father in the slurry. She looked at each of their faces, and their rapt concentration as Lord Stark addressed them. They loved and respected him, she hoped someday she could garner the same when this land, or the one next door was hers. You could be sent miles away. She was certainly ready to run a household, she just couldn't imagine the geography, or the people she would share it with.

Something pricked her arm and she started. "Ouch." She gawked in the vicinity of the pressure. "What the-"

"-On guard!" Arya had slunk out of the shadows as if painted into them, offering the tip of her long needle of a sword.

"What are you doing?" She balked, jabbing the point away from her. "I'm not armed!"

"That's why I said 'On guard.' Duh." Her annoying sister did an impressive swish and wack with her sword through the air before pointing it at her again. "It means; be alert, and arm yourself."

"I don't want to play today." She swiveled back around to look out her window, and mourn the loss of her childhood.

"Suit yourself, I have Robb and Jon now."

She hadn't seen him in the meeting, _perhaps he was hiding from Arya? One could only stand so much_. "That's fine by me." She said with a little satisfaction, perhaps if Jon is hiding, she wouldn't have to see him, or attempt to hide herself, like she had been doing. _Why couldn't she talk to him without losing face? Perhaps an illness had taken hold of her, and had reached the brain?_

Her sister huffed, and she heard the sword being sheathed. "Are you moping?"

"No. I am not." It was simple, but she knew she was going to get pestered regardless. "Just worried about the festival."

"Why?" _Don't make me go into this_. "It gets busy, and people get very excited over the gallantry."

"And you hate that...why?" Sansa whipped back around.

"I don't want gallantry."

"Since when?"

"A while ago."

"This is every prissy girl's wet dream."

Sansa was ludicrous with shock, she gaped. "Arya! I shall tell mother!"

Her sister was unabashed. "You like fairy-tales, and gallantry, men in their painted armour, crowns of roses...that's your thing. Why on earth are you moping?"

"The pageantry is all fake, men will be chivalrous and courteous...lull you into a false sense of security, then BAM!" She took a much needed breath.

"They beat you in a jousting tournament?" Her sister jested. "Then don't sign up."

Sansa growled. "No, they take what they want of you...and leave you in ruin." She could make out the clockwork in her little sister's brain ticking over.

"You don't have to give them what they want...and you're perfectly safe from anyone...'taking', have you been reading 'The king's mistress' again?'" Arya knew too much for someone so young.

"You know no one in this household is allowed that book, it is contraband!" Sansa wanted her to leave, arguing with Arya was like trying to navigate through a brick wall. "Stupid fairy-tale that makes light out of infidelity."

"Don't be angry at the book...it's just a damn book!" Arya finally walked towards the door as if to leave. "You've changed, I think I preferred you when you were simpering. You had a way better imagination!" She finally took leave, her scabbard clanging against the door as she did.

* * *

When Sansa was sure the men folk had cleared the courtyard with her father, she walked out into the open. She came to a stop at the centre of the churned up mud, in order to survey her surroundings. A gentle breeze drove her hair forward. She turned into it, to drive her hair back along with it. It was the wind that carried a scent of woodbines, and herbs burning, it ensnared her senses. When she focused her vision, she made out a lone figure leaning back against a pen fence, a long pipe hung low from their lips and plume of smoke drifted up towards their face. She trudged towards the pen, and when the smoke cleared she saw it was Jon, staring right at her, and had probably been awhile, so she couldn't change direction without it being obvious. But she did however stall, enough time to note he was dressed like a farmer, with braces over a coarse blue undershirt. _You'd think when he wasn't on duty he would wear a doublet?_

Another puff of smoke seemed to haze him again, and when it cleared- "Good Morning..." He spoke exquisitely despite having something in his mouth. "Lovely day."

She swallowed. "Good Morning, my Lord...and yes." She bobbed her head, not being able to dip, since she was sliding in mud. Sansa dithered, for about a second before shifting as if about to continue on past him.

He took the pipe out. "Now is 'later', right?" He inquired, he was fixated on the lip of his pipe and proceeded to rub at it.

She heard, and she felt her habit of saying sorry to give her time to think hover in her mouth. _Now what?_ She cleared her throat. "Yes, I was in fact going to-"

"-Check on your horse?" His mirth was apparent, and he seemed very relaxed leaning on 'her' fence, once again not at all offended by the near dismissal.

She heard herself laugh nervously. _Was she that predictable, could he read her lies?_ "Well yes, and no-"

"You're starting to sound like me, when I was a kid, only yesses and nos." Echoing what she had said about him, it made her bite the inside of her cheek. _Don't be petty_. His foot came back and he hooked his heel so it hung on the lowest plank of the fence. "I'm going to give you some advice that was imparted to me."

Her nostrils flared as she took a breath. _This ought to be good_. "What's that?"

"Practice the art of conversation, talk to at least one new person a day." He popped the pipe back into his mouth. "Even if they seem to you...below your station."

Her eyes blew wide. _Insolence_. "You think I'm a hoity toity snob, that I don't talk to people outside of my own household." Her hand came down on the fence to stabilize her feet, she was slipping...and seething. "I talk to the small folk, some of them are my friends... you don't know me." _And you never will at this rate._

"And whose fault is that?" His voice was finally neutralizing, glancing at a passing farmer.

"Yours." She uttered, not wanting to yell near the small folk. "I may have not made a good first impression on you, Jon, but I have made many a good first impressions on others."

"No doubt, you're the princess of good impressions, but you seem to be picking and choosing when to make that good impression." He held her gaze for a long time, it burned and she tore her own blue orbs away. "Besides, three days ago wasn't your first impression for me, I've known about you ten years, and our first meeting was six years ago." That seemed to bite.

And her anger slackened, she felt wounded. "Was it...that...bad? I was just a child." It came out hesitant, but loud enough to be accusing. She couldn't defend her child self, the silly girl with stupid dreams, who had been lulled by a man, the only way to defend that side of herself was to simply say 'she was just a child.' She didn't feel well again, and it took away her edge. She was distraught. "Was I truly awful?"

The pipe was out, and his face softened, it dispelled the tension. "No..." He released a sigh. "No... you weren't." He almost looked guilty. His shoulders sunk, and he realized his balance was off so he pushed himself against and off the fence, his foot scraping on the wood as he unhooked it. "I was just pointing out the day I arrived wasn't our first meeting, it wasn't an impression...it's just there's no excuse for you to..." Another farmer walked past, and he dried up.

"Yes?"

"It's Just..."

"What?" Sansa was on tenterhooks. _Oh gods_. Jon flicked a pinch of herbs into the pen, her eyes tracked it, before returning to his callous fingers manipulating the pipe. He was deliberating, and from the looks of it, it was enormous. She had never wanted to be in this position, to be critiqued on something she was already paranoid about; her manner when with 'strangers.' _What's worse he wasn't a stranger._

"You think the girl that makes friends easily, the girl that shares stories and fights with her siblings, that makes time for gossip with her small folk friends, would be able to squeeze in just a moment with me."

' _A moment with me_ ' It would stay with her probably for the rest of the day or forever. _Haunting._ And right now in her frazzled and guilt-ridden conscious she felt the urge to romanticize that phrase, It was beautiful and sad, and said by this stranger. Sansa was about to utter it again, distantly. "A moment with-" _SNAP OUT OF IT, This was not supposed to be romantic, nor a stretch for you, he is your cousin, and you have neglected him_. Her lip quivered ever so slightly. "I'm sorry...I never thought-"

"Dear Gods Sansa!..." His voice was so similar to her siblings by the tone, the accent, and the jovial nature of it, she did a double take. "Don't think it's a great grief to me...cheer up, sweet cousin." He shrugged. "I'm fine." It was so casual, it felt like a joke."If I knew telling you this would make you crumple like it was a confrontation, I'd have thought twice...or done it sooner to get you still for longer than a minute."

She had been on the verge of tearing up, _and he had just been making an observation, not a request?_ "This isn't an intervention?" She said guardedly. "I thought you were upset, I thought I'd ruined your life." She clutched at her heart. "Thank you." She said breathlessly, and closed her eyes to the heavens, and when she brought them back down to earth, he looked astute. _That little..._ "I hate you."

The sun miraculously came out from behind the clouds. "Erm...You're welcome?" He looked comically uncomfortable. "But please...embrace that rage."

 _Oh the cheek_. She flung her hand out and knocked the pipe into the mud.

He gaped, but remained calm and smug. "Good girl."

"You were more endearing when you were quiet." Sansa had to have a wide stance to keep up right in the mud. "What if this is a double bluff?" When she started to round on him on the fence, he suddenly moved, so they were circling one another. "You're upset...you're just masking it, you've wounded your masculinity, so you wounded me just so you could swoop in."

"You don't know what a double bluff is."Jon rolled his eyes, a smile threatening to bloom on his face. "Or maybe you found yourself in a sticky spot, played up your femininity." He covered his mouth sensitively, pretending to hold back tears. "Then BANG...out of the sticky spot."

"I don't do that." She heard a crunch, and she realized she had stood on his pipe. She was about to apologize-.

-"Don't you dare." Jon raised a finger in warning. "I'm sure you're going to say that were my fault." _He was loving this._

"I was going to say sorry."

"Yeah yeah, just don't quiver your lip at me as you do." Sansa did it again in jest, and he mockingly flinched in retaliation. "Gods no."

She laughed. "So unfortunate." She then added with mock severity. "You have revealed your weakness to your opponent. A grave mistake."

A low husk of a chuckle tickled her soul. "Gods, if that's my weakness, I'm totally fucked."

She gaped, but her mouth closed when a new voice rung out.

"JON!" Her father had returned early from his inspection of the near fields. Jon was a sight to behold, every bit of swagger gone. "Don't swear in front of a young lass." Lord Stark's hand rested on her shoulder. "You alright, sweetheart?"

She slipped sideways, towards the fence. "I think I might faint." She faked a swoon, and her father lurched with concern, but drew back when she started laughing.

"What the-" Sansa never did things like this, Lord Stark wiggled his finger at his nephew. "See this was your doing, you're a bad influence." But he held no ill will to the man, and shared a fleeting smirk with his daughter whom was ambling up from her stoop. "I'm glad to see you talking." For some reason she believed he was talking about the pair of them. _Was it so pronounced and glaringly obvious they were the only ones that didn't speak growing up?_ She felt aglow with confidence again and...relief? She spared a glance for Jon, and she caught the final embers of merriment burn away. The mischief seem to disappear too, and the awkwardness returned. _Why?_ She gave him a nervous smile before she trudged away, aware her face had grew hot.

* * *

Please drop me a comment on the sister site as well thanks https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13635961/1/The-Wooing-of-the-Prude .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Need more? Please visit fanfiction dot net, I have issues publishing here (formatting and the lack of safety copy and paste block. But I do love this site for reading. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13635961/1/The-Wooing-of-the-Prude


	3. Chapter 3: Helping Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's with the formatting on this site, ey? I have to go through rich edit and individually mark up every word, and redo all gaps. I have so many italics. Crimeany! Like I said before, the rest of this story is on fanfiction dot net, as of today it's up to chapter 32. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13635961/1/The-Wooing-of-the-Prude

A beautiful light streamed in through a private chamber's window, where two auburn haired noble women sat at a table chattering.

"I was thinking of an old imperial style, I will have the fabric drape at the front like this." Sansa held the blue satin to her chest, giving it a curved ripple. "And it will be held on with wolf brooches on either shoulder." Her mother's expression was uncertain, and she caught it and lowered the fabric. "What is it?"

"It's a lovely idea...but, it's not very northern. It feels very bravoos, exposing the shoulder and arms like that." Lady Stark teased the fabric out of her girl's hands. "How about adding some sleeves?"

"Long flared sleeves? Like trumpets." Sansa opened the fabric out. "They'll overlap my hands like this, very elegant. I think that's what I might do."

"That's very southern." Catelyn grimaced again. "How about small poet sleeves? That's elegant." She toyed with the fabric, in attempt to appeal the decision her daughter had made. "Like mine...northern." She could see her child looked a little disinterested. "Then you won't have to cover your hands."

"I don't need to show my hands."

"You're going to be greeting people, dancing and eating food, it's practical." Catelyn was insistent. "Not to mention, the clapping, and handing out favours to the jousters."

"Well that puts my imperial drapes back on the table...no sleeves it is." Sansa folded her fabric up.

"Are you running behind sweetling...is that why you are doing...drapes?"Her mother was quick on the draw.

"Well... there is less than two weeks to go." Sansa admitted, feeling a little deflated.

"Need help?"

"I need to do this." Sansa fiddled with the hemline of her fabric, it was starting to fray. "I can spend more time in, and get my head around things." Catelyn cocked her head, evaluating this. "And everyone will be busy...you will be busy."

"I will always have time for you, I'm wearing one of my mother's old dresses, so I have plenty of time to make you a dress."

A small slither of a smile crept to the younger Stark's face. "But what about Arya's dress, aren't you making that?"

"No, she will be wearing one of mine, she is in charge of taking the hem up." She said in warning as if the girl in question were there. Sansa hugged her, tucking her head under her mother's, like she did when she was younger.

"No poet sleeves..."

Catelyn patted her back. "Alright, sweetling."

"And no collar at the neck."

"Really?"

She felt her mother's grimace against the top of her head. She had to fit in the fashion of the season. "It's summer, mother, all the girls will be wearing bustier style tops with their dresses."

"I won't be, and Lady Mormont won't be, I'm sure other girls would have sewn high collared dresses."

This hug had gone on long enough, she drew back slowly. "Mother, are you ashamed of me?" She had not meant to ever say it, but her increasing anxiety over avoiding lady pitfalls, traps, fairy-tales, and becoming aware her mother was on guard when it came to men approaching her daughter, it took away her agency. "You don't trust me...you think I'm going to let you down again." Her voice had a croak. _You think I could become a whore._

She felt her mother's hand graze her cheek. "You have never let me down, and never will. " A kiss was pressed to her forehead.. "What gave you the impression I didn't trust you?"

"When I was ten..." Her lip started to quiver. "And that man tried to...kiss me." She wasn't going to use that word; groom. She had no idea the intentions of that man, never did, never will, but from her parents' and brother's hostility, she knew it had been grave. And she knew looking back, she had been too young, and that unkiss, too grown-up. Watching other ten year olds skipping about, and seeing other thirty year old men riding around the castle, they did not mix, and her involuntary imagination constantly demonstrated why. _Ew._

"Sweetheart...that frightful near miss came to nothing, and it wouldn't have been your fault if he had continued." She pulled her daughter's hands into her lap, to get her earnest. "Listen, we experience, we learn."

Sansa felt herself retreat in accordance. "And watch out for men bearing gifts, and stories."

"You are older now, and I can tell you... men bearing gifts and stories aren't the problem, it's the thought behind it you must seek." She squeezed her hand. "I told you then because no man has any excuse to give you a personal gift alone when you're underage." Catelyn continued to think, as she fought to regain her daughter's trust and educate her on morality. "Now you are older, it's down to common sense; give everyone your courtesy even when they don't return it. Politeness is key, but you don't owe anybody your intimacy, they have to earn it, and they don't earn it with just politeness or gifts." Her mother was getting teary, and Sansa reached up and gently thumbed beneath her eyes. "And my sweet girl, flattery may make you blush, but too much-"

"-Makes me squirm." Her eyes were burning, she must have been crying too.

"You as well?...Ah yes, we do get the crawlers." Their laughter was quiet and short. "And the cads. I use to put every man in a category, from their first impression." She reached up to smooth a lock of her girl's hair. "The creeps, the cruel, the cads, the crawlers, the fools, the good, and the best."

Sansa shook her head in disbelief. "That's way too many categories."

"Believe you me, people can go into more than one category, or move up or down." She saw her mother finger curling the coppery lock. "Perhaps you aren't as judgmental as I, you would probably need just three categories."

"I will take the fools as one, and the good." She clasped her knee, on the verge of rocking back and forth. A huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders, no doubt it will fall back on. "And since I'm older...those men that would have been creeps are now just..."

"Cads." Catelyn finished with a degree of mirth. "But there are still creeps out there."

* * *

Sansa had just parted ways from Roslin. There was a slight catastrophe; Roslin had tried on her dress, only to find out it didn't fit. Jeyne had been no help whatsoever, she'd made the suggestion of 'asking Lady Stark', which as Sansa knew, was out of the question, she was busy with her dress, that, and Lady Stark was unlikely to loan out dresses to those whom weren't in the family. 

She reached the outside landing that overlooked the courtyard, to see her sister speedily jumping into an alcove. _Aha, she is going to scare me._ She could have changed direction, but she might as well enlighten her, _the preparation for the festival must have been driving her mad._ Sansa walked slow, noting the distance between her and the alcove. She pinched the front of her skirt, she was seven alcoves away...six...five...fou-

"-Psst." The noise rung out from the fourth alcove, and Sansa did an acute lurch, as did her heart, her palm fanning flat on her gown. Jon was sitting half in shadow, his dark beard and what little light there was illuminating the alabaster skin of his face and neck. "Arya is hiding three alcoves away." His voice was but a whisper, but it reverberated through her. "And..." It was quite an ominous pause, and he stood up from his seat to level with her. "I saw Gilly, she was looking for you."

Sansa blinked slowly, then watched her feet carry her into the curve. "I know these things." She mirrored his volume. "And Arya does this, if you were here more often, you would know she does the jump scare once a day." She cast her gaze down that corridor, looking for a peep of her sister, when she returned her attention to her cousin, he was somewhat closer, also trying to look too, his curls tickling her face. _He really needed to tie it back._ "What are your intentions?"

He took a breath, though it could have been a slight snigger. "My intentions..." His eyes remained furtively on the hall, but his expelled air was gifted to her face. _Cardamom._ "She wasn't actually going to jump scare you, yer know?"

"I bet you were tempted." She cast her eyes away when she sensed he was going to look back.

"I'm not a child...your fear doesn't nourish or sustain me." It was a matter-of-fact. "Your surprise on the other hand is...moreish."

She found that funny. "It's beautiful how you word things." This pleased him. That mischief appeared in his features again, a dangerous thing she believed...even if he was just her seemingly harmless cousin. "You should have been a poet." Sansa noted him quelling a chuckle.

"Yes well...let's be thankful for small mercies."

The tips of her fingers rose up and dusted her lips, this was her attempt at stifling a laugh. His eye-line dipped slightly.

"What was she doing anyway, jumping in the alcove?" Ignoring the oddity of her situation. _If there really was a situation._

"She thought Lady Stark had sent you to force her to make corrections on her dress."

"I see." Her mouth was becoming dry, and she couldn't efficiently wet them, nor lick her lips. _It would be quite improper. But why?_ "Well if she wants to look the fool, why should I care? So...I shan't say a word." She side stepped into the hall, and turned promptly, about to walk in the other direction. His voice however caught her.

"So you're going to spare her from her horrid duties, huh? How decent of you."

She narrowed her vision at him. "Horrid? It's dress maintenance...a hobby for some." _He knows nothing._

"Uh hu." His arms crept up into a fold. "Alright."

"-There are people out there emptying chamber pots into cesspits, or worse clearing out those pits...not to mention-"

He looked crafty, and she realized she was going off on one. _He needed to stop baiting her into these discussions._

"Find something more productive to do with your time, than spying on ladies."Her coppery mane swished with her as she turned and left. _Don't follow...don't follow._ She had an impulsive urge to look back and check, which would make her panic, not to mention if she did, it would seem like an invitation to continue on this rocky path of fleeting random conversations, with a man she could not understand.

She was lost in her thoughts of 'stranger ranger cousin Jon' while winding the corridors, when Jeyne emerged from the bottom of a staircase with a mixture of excitement and in trepidation. "My lady, Theon has asked to be my chaperone." Her friend reached for one of her ladyship's hands, as if seeking approval. "I know you wanted me to ask Jon, but-"

Sansa waved her free hand aristocratically. "That's fine, you seem delighted and that's all that matters." She then fixed her with a stern look. "But be careful, Theon comes with his own warning; he's spontaneous and charming, and very forward. He doesn't know the difference between a back-alley sally, and a lady, remind him."

"I know. my lady...I shall tame him."

"If 19 years couldn't tame him, two weeks won't." She knew she was being bossy and prudish, but someone needed to talk some sense.

Jeyne dipped in a curtsy, probably in concurrence with her advice. As she rose, she glanced up and dipped again. "My lord."

Sansa glanced around. _How long had he been there?_ Jeyne had left her to the wolf. "I don't appreciate ease-dropping."

His arms were folded again in that too casual manner as if spectating. "Forgive me." It felt final, and she was about to take her leave once again, but he hooked her in by the lasso that was his voice. "Are you trying to set me up with one of your little birds?"

"Little birds?"

"I heard a man refer to non-violent spies in a city that carry information as little birds. That makes you by the way; a spymaster." He circled her, he wasn't done with this interrogation. "You accuse me of 'spying', and yet you're attempting to put your insubordinate close to me...hhmm."

She scoffed. "As if I would assemble, recruit and dispatch a nest of spies." She tried to shove past him, he was a solid as a boulder, she sort of ricocheted off him. _Holy crap._ Since she couldn't get away she had to be on the defense. "What would I want to find out about you, that I don't already know?" _She knew nothing really._ "I could simply ask, families don't need to spy." That seemed to soothe her, if only just for a second, he was still looming fiercely. "I was only helping out!"

It was his turn to scoff, and it made her start. "As if I need your help!"

 _Ouch, but she did have a motive._ Her throat involuntary swallowed, and her stomach clenched. "Who says it was for you?!" _That's right, neglect the whole Arya thing, save yourself from being accused of being a controlling wench._

She figured around about now, he was swallowing his foolish words and trying to digest everything that had transpired.

"Right..." He was still putting on a fierce front, she had to commend him for that, but behind it all he was probably wounded. "So you're just helping out your friend, huh?"

"Yes." _Don't feel guilty, he snapped at you._

"Well she didn't need it." _Now he was just saving face, how adorable._

"I heard." She felt her shawl had slumped a little low, so she lifted it with her arms and tucked the ends firmly into the elbow pit. Back straight, chest out, perfect posture. "Are you done?" She retorted decisively, hoping her eyes were as condescending and fierce as she felt at that moment.

A darkness had come to his grey orbs and she gave them much scrutiny. _Was he mad...that's mad right?_ Sansa sucked in her lips at the idea of him biting his tongue behind that mouth of his, fighting off the urge to be brash, or strike out- _haha he couldn't he was her cousin, and he and I were noblewoman's children._ "Well?" Or maybe he could try to piece together a grovelling apology. His pupil's dilated, and he quickly tore them away. "Fine." Done, I win.

Jon remained speechless, the least he had said since arriving. _So he was really visiting his old roots; The painfully shy winter child. Bless._

* * *

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